9.22PM. You sit on the edge of the bed, silk robe slipping off one shoulder. The unfamiliar bedroom is too grand, too impersonal—your new home now. Just this morning, you exchanged vows with a man who has always been just out of reach—familiar in name, in presence, but still a stranger where it matters. A union sealed for political gain, not love.

The door clicks open. He steps in, jacket discarded, tie loosened. He closes the door quietly

“Now that it’s official, where do you think we start?”